


A Legacy of Shame

by JJJunky



Category: Young Riders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kid's father returns to complicate his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Legacy of Shame

 

A Legacy of Shame  
By JJJunky

 

The Kid sighed with relief as he noted the top of the windmill slowly rising with the sun in the distant horizon. It was the first sign that his long journey was almost over. In a few minutes the weather beaten walls of his home station’s barn would come into view marking the end of a long hard ride. A ride that had first taken him to Willow Springs where he'd discovered the relief rider had been injured. With no other rider available, he'd been obliged to continue on to Red Buttes. He had barely arrived in Red Buttes when the relay came in and he was forced to retrace his journey.

Streaking across unpredictable territory on a moonless night had, as usual, made the journey seem longer. Menacing shadows threatened from behind every rock and tree. Shadows his logical mind said couldn't exist without the light of the moon. But, logic didn't keep his stomach from knotting at each supposed sighting. He had never craved a shower and a plate of Rachel's bacon and eggs more than he did right now.

Easing back on Katy's reins as he rode around the house, he was surprised to find the ranch apparently deserted except for Monty standing patiently beside a tall chestnut gelding. Upon sighting the Kid, the boy immediately ran forward to receive the pouch. Without a word, he threw it and himself onto the saddle. Kicking the gelding into a canter, his feet deftly searched for the stirrups bouncing against the hard sides of his mount.

Scanning the deserted yard with a puzzled gaze, the Kid eased his horse to a stop. Dismounting, he loosened the cinch before leading Katy to the barn. Pulling off the dusty saddle, he grabbed a rag and quickly wiped off the sweat that had foamed on the mare's neck and haunches. As he walked her around the yard to cool her down he wondered where the others had gone.

His chores done, he released Katy into the corral and headed for the bunkhouse. Though his mouth still watered at the thought of Rachel's usual hearty breakfast, it was beginning to look as though he would have to settle for bread and beef jerky. Reaching for the hook securing the door of the bunkhouse he paused when he heard noises coming from inside. Keeping one hand close to his gun, he cautiously opened the door.

"Welcome back Kid, you're late." Buck's greeting was spoken absently, his attention clearly centered on the bedroll he was preparing.

Though Buck's bunk was closest to the door, the Kid knew the young Indian would still have noted his presence first. "I had to ride to Red Buttes."

"I got your pack ready for you," Lou called, tying the throngs to hold the bedroll in place. "If you want to clean up before we leave you better hurry."

"What's goin' on?" Confusion was apparent on the Kid's face as he glanced around the room. Buck and Lou were just finishing up the bedrolls while Ike and Cody were helping Rachel pack eight saddlebags with food. What space was left in the bags was filled with ammunition by Noah or Jimmy. Amid the restrained activity, Teaspoon quietly sat studying a map.

His voice low, yet easily heard over the activity, the Marshal explained, "Late last night the Sweetwater Bank was robbed. The gang got away with almost five thousand dollars--"

"But that's not the worst of it," Lou interrupted, "they killed Mr. Chalmers."

Shock turned to anger as the Kid demanded, "Why? Mr. Chalmers never even carried a gun."

Lou's eyes watered as she explained, "Before he died, Mr. Chalmers said the leader told him he that didn't like his face."

Rising from his seat, Teaspoon folded the map and stuffed it into his saddlebags. "Barnett is forming a posse from town. We're to meet them at the crossing so we better git a move on or we'll be late."

A wanted poster lying on the table caught the Kids's eye. As he reached for it he asked, "Is this the guy who robbed the bank?"

"Yeap, Ben Smith and his gang," Teaspoon noted. "According to witnesses, Smith's the one who shot Chalmers."

As his eyes fell on the crude picture, the Kid's hand began to tremble. Quickly laying the poster back on the table, he backed away. Taking several deep breaths he waited until he was sure his voice was under control before he said, "I can't go with ya Teaspoon."

"Whaddya say?" Cody was the first to break the silence that had suddenly fallen.

"I said I ain't ridin' with ya," the Kid firmly stated his eyes defiantly focused on Cody.

Teaspoon glanced quickly at the wanted poster before fixing his eyes on the recalcitrant young boy before him. "Can you tell us why?"

"I'm tired of all the killin'," the Kid hesitantly asserted. "I signed on to be an express rider, not a lawman."

Ignoring the angry protests surrounding him, Teaspoon moved to the Kid's side. Putting a hand on a trembling shoulder he soothed, "Then you better stay here and ride."

"Thanks Teaspoon," the Kid's gratitude showed on his face as well as in his words.

"Anyone else feel the same?" Teaspoon asked glancing around the room. When no one else stepped forward he sighed lightly, "In that case, let's get a move on."

The Kid knew they were curious, but no one spoke as they passed him on their way out the door. Whether it was from understanding or anger he couldn't tell. The sudden quiet of the room only increased his feeling of discomfort.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rachel questioned crossing to his side and putting a comforting arm across his shoulders.

The Kid hesitated as Ike closed the door behind him. He didn't like to lie, so he rarely talked about himself or his life before joining the Pony Express. Now it looked as though that omission would make the life he had led these last few months a lie in itself. Even knowing this, he found he couldn't unburden himself. "I wish I could Rachel, but I can't, I'm sorry."

****

One hand, blistered and raw, gripped the leather reins, while the other wiped the sweat from his brow. It's salt stung the sores crisscrossing the fingers and palms. Teaspoon had told him he would ride and for the last three days that's exactly what he'd done. Not only was the Kid making his own runs, but all the others he was in station for. When he wasn't riding, he was cleaning tack or feeding stock. He had barely slept or eaten. He wasn't certain if he was pushing so hard out of a feeling of quilt - or shame.

Wallowing in his own self-pity, he hadn't noticed how much his attitude was affecting Rachel; a circumstance that had only become apparent when he had glanced back and saw the look on her face as he rode out early that morning. Though he hadn't let her, she had tried to be there for him. Sheepishly he realized she deserved more consideration. He decided that as soon as he got home he would try to make amends for his treatment of her.

Regrettably, Rachel wasn't the only one to whom he owed an apology. The disappointment he'd seen in Teaspoon's eyes had almost made him change his mind about joining the posse. He had killed before. More times than he cared to remember. Some, like the Hawk and Sheriff Lambert had been intelligent men who had let twisted idealism or greed lead them to their destruction. Others, like the men who followed Nichols and Judge Enright had been nameless, faceless men he had been forced to kill in self-defense. It was said repetition usually breeds familiarity, but for him killing was getting harder - not easier.

"Hey Kid!"

Lost in his thoughts, the Kid had almost ridden past the Sweetwater Station. Easing back on the reins, he threw the pouch to Griff. "Have a good ride."

"Tell Rachel I noticed the fence near Willow Creek's comin' down," Griff shouted as he jumped into the saddle.

Wondering why Griff hadn't told her himself, the Kid slid off his horse and called an acknowledgement he was certain went unheard. While the cooling down period was routine, his blistered hands made the work painful, though the pain in his heart was greater. He sorely missed the camaraderie he had come to expect at the end of a run.

His chores finally completed, he headed for the bunkhouse. Using his hat to brush some of the dust from his clothes, he gratefully entered the building. "Hey Rachel, Griff said . . ."

Only exhaustion and the hat in his right hand saved the Kid's life. Slowed by tired, aching muscles, he never had a chance to draw his gun before the sound of metal meeting bone echoed in his ears. His knees buckled as his view of Rachel's scared face blackened around the edges before finally disappearing completely.

****

Teaspoon allowed the dancing flames of the fire to lull him into a peace he hadn't felt since the Kid's refusal to join the posse. He wasn't totally certain why these last few days had felt so strange, but he could guess. They were all feeling the Kid's absence. It had come as a surprise to the older man when he finally admitted - if only to himself - how much he had come to depend on the boy. They all did to different degrees. Though the young black man would never openly admit it, even Noah did to some extent.

Yet, the Kid was a puzzle that still made Teaspoon wary. He would trust the boy with his life, but there was so little they knew about him. In the many months they'd been together, secrets had been discovered on long, stormy nights in a darkened bunkhouse. Events remarkably similar in detail were told in varying degrees of humor, shame, and desire. Only the voice was different. Not once, though, was one of those voices the Kid's.

"Do you really think the Kid meant what he said, Teaspoon?" Cody asked.

"Even if he did," defended Lou, "he's got a right to his own feelings."

"It isn't fear or regret that's holding him back," Noah thoughtfully noted throwing another log on the fire. "He knew Ben Smith."

Ike nodded his head. His hands moving rapidly in the dim light he said, "He didn't object to going ‘til after he saw the wanted poster."

"How in the hell would the Kid know someone like Ben Smith?" asked Jimmy. Though his thoughts were centered on the puzzle concerning the Kid's actions, Jimmy's hands efficiently cleaned his pistol.

Buck countered, "How much do we know about the Kid?"

"Enough to trust him with my life," snapped Jimmy defiantly facing the young Indian.

"Easy Jimmy," Teaspoon soothed, "Buck's got a valid point, but he's not saying the Kid would ride in the same company as the likes of Ben Smith."

"Of course he wouldn't," snapped Buck, obviously shocked to think anyone might have misinterpreted his statement. "All I'm sayin' is it's possible they ran across each other sometime, somewhere."

Adjusting the saddle blanket to soften the hard leather behind his back, Cody said, "O.K., then let's look at it from another angle. What do we know about Ben Smith?"

"Not a lot," Teaspoon admitted. "He seemed to appear out of no where about ten years ago. No one really knows who he is or where he came from. The one thing we do know is that his real name isn't Ben Smith, it was the name of the first man he killed. He'd sell his gun hand or his best friend for a buck. He's only recently turned to bank robbery as a way of life."

"Best friends must not be worth much these days," Jimmy muttered. Laying down on his bedroll, he positioned his gun close to his right hand.

"For some people they never were," Teaspoon sadly noted.

Cody pressed, "So what are we gonna do about the Kid?"

"Nuthin'," Teaspoon firmly stated, "if he wants our help he'll ask for it."

"Will he? Lou asked, realizing as the others might not that their recent break up could make the normally reticent young man even more guarded.

****

"Easy Kid," Rachel cautioned, "don't move too suddenly."

The wisdom of the young women's advice was quickly apparent. Closing his eyes against the disorientation caused by the pain in his head, the Kid tried to figure out why the brief view he'd had of the bunkhouse was wrong. He was lying on Cody's bunk, but why? And why did his head hurt?

With the questions came a memory. The memory of a face. A face that had grown old. A face that now graced wanted posters. Opening his eyes he held out his hand, "Help me up, Rachel."

"Now Kid, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

While privately agreeing with the assessment, the Kid knew the pain in his head had become secondary to the pain in his heart. A pain Rachel couldn't know existed, for he had never acknowledged it. Gritting his teeth, he allowed no sign of distress to escape his lips as Rachel reluctantly eased him up to the edge of the bunk.

"You're tougher than you look boy." The face from Teaspoon's wanted poster sat at the dinner table idly playing a game of solitaire.

Raising his head too quickly, the Kid's vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious. His lips pressed firmly together, he stared unflinchingly at the face from his memories.

Smith ignored him, glancing up only briefly after laying another card on the table. But, as the eyes continued to stare he grew restless. Finally, his patience obviously strained he threw the cards down and stood up. "What're you starin' at boy?"

The Kid's gaze never faltered. Rounding the table, Smith came to stand in front of his tormentor. "What's your name?"

Just as with his first question, silence greeted this one. Clearly exasperated, Smith backhanded the Kid. "I asked you a question boy and I expect an answer. What's your name?"

His head spinning from the blow, the Kid slowly pushed himself back up to his original position. Ignoring Rachel's helping hand, he glared defiantly at his abuser.

Red faced with anger, Smith drew his hand back once more. Rising to her feet Rachel courageously placed herself between the two combatants. "We call him . . ."

"He's going to tell me his name." Pushing Rachel hard enough to make her fall, Smith growled, "For the last time, what's your name boy?"

"I see you haven't stopped abusing women," said the Kid making sure Rachel was unhurt before finally replying. "Too bad there aren't any children around to really make you feel at home."

His eyes narrowing, Smith took a couple of steps back. Glancing quickly at his two accomplices keeping watch at the windows, he whispered, "Who are you?"

Defiantly raising his head, the Kid said, "Don't you recognize one of your punching bags?"

"Jed? David?"

"Neither," the Kid disgustedly shook his head, "you never could tell us apart. I guess it was hard to see who we were through the swelling and the bruises."

Visibly relieved, Smith returned to the table. "I shoulda known it was you, Kid. You always did have the sharpest tongue and a defiant look on your face."

"You oughta know, you put it there."

"Max, Jake," Smith called to his colleagues, "I want ya to meet my son."

"Is that why we're stickin' around here?" asked Max looking nervously out the window.

"Naw, I didn't even know he had come west." His attention turned once more to his defiant offspring, Smith thoughtfully noted, "I always thought you'd be the one who'd stay and look after your Ma."

"The dead don't need lookin' after," the Kid quietly stated.

There was no remorse reflected on the weathered face, "It was nice of her to take you off the hook like that."

Only Rachel's quick intervention kept the Kid from attacking his father. "Easy Kid, I know you want revenge, but now isn't the time."

"Listen to the pretty lady boy," Smith's eyes scanned the well proportioned figure with a lascivious gaze, "she might just keep you alive."

Recognizing the sneer on the wrinkled face the Kid pulled Rachel down on the bunk beside him. Moving his own body between her and Smith he ordered, "You stay away from her."

"Who's gonna make me?" Smith snickered.

"I will."

"You can try."

****

Noah bent down and lifted his horse's right, front hoof. Disgusted he dropped it and straightened, "He's had it Teaspoon, he lost a shoe. I'll have to take him back to the ranch and get a new mount."

"I'll go with ya," Jimmy offered. "It's not far. "We can ride double."

"Thanks, but I can walk it easy." Realizing how many of the posse they'd already lost in three fruitless days of searching, Noah pointed out, "Teaspoon, can't afford to lose two more guns."

"You sure you'll be all right?" Teaspoon questioned.

Noah smiled, "Believe me, I've walked further than this before."

"When you get home," suggested Lou, "make sure the Kid isn't workin' himself to death. You know how he gets."

"Even if he is, what exactly am I supposed to do about it?" asked Noah. "Beat him up to stop him?"

Well acquainted with the Kid's fighting prowess, Jimmy shook his head, "I wouldn't if you still figure to die at the end of a rope."

"You could always tie 'im down," offered Cody.

Ike tapped Cody on the shoulder, "Are you volunteering to untie him?"

"Lou could do it," Cody happily reasoned. "The Kid would never hurt her."

"Oh no, I'm not your sacrificial lamb," declined Lou.

"Listen boys," Teaspoon interrupted, "if Rachel can't slow the Kid down, nobody can." As the others reluctantly nodded agreement, he continued, "You better be on your way Noah if you wanna get home before dark."

"I'll get a new mount and rejoin ya tomorrow mornin'," agreed Noah.

As Noah started walking away, Buck called, "I'll leave a trail for you to follow."

Noah waved his thanks as he slowly lead his horse down the hill. The thought of facing the Kid alone almost made him turn back and accept Jimmy's offer. There was still a tension between them partially attributed to the Kid's southern association and Noah's understandable hatred for the region's oppression of his people. One thing Noah had never been good at was hiding his feelings, feelings that had grown stronger since Smith's appearance. Would the Kid sense his distrust? Would it build a wedge into their growing friendship?

He had said it two nights ago and nothing had happened to change his opinion. The Kid knew Ben Smith and it wasn't from a chance encounter. By refusing to hunt for the bank robber, the Kid had already shown where his allegiance lay. The question was who's side would he be on if there was ever a confrontation?

****

"Max would you stop lookin' out that window," Smith ordered. "You're makin' me nervous."

His glance never wavering, Max shook his head, "What if someone comes?"

"The pretty little lady can handle it, if she don't want nuthin' to happen to the boy here."

Stunned, Rachel gasped, "You wouldn't hurt your own son?"

"Why not? If he was holdin' this gun," said Smith lifting his pistol off the table and pointing it at the Kid, "he'd kill me. I taught 'im this was a kill or be killed world."

"Thankfully he didn't learn the lesson very well," Rachel noted. "He's never enjoyed killin'."

"Then he's a fool who'll die young," Smith dispassionately noted laying down the gun and fanning the cards.

"You've already had one son die followin' your example. Isn't that enough?" asserted the Kid.

Placing the cards on the table for a game of solitaire, Smith absently questioned, "What're you talkin' about?"

"Jed died tryin' to steal a gold shipment from the same bank you robbed. He was ready to kill me to save his own life too," the Kid whispered, the pain of the confrontation that had resulted in Jed's death still strong.

Pride rather than remorse shone on the dirty face. "Well at least one of you brats listened to me."

"And it got him killed," said the Kid his view of the room blurred by the tears filling his eyes.

Rising to his feet Smith crossed to stand near the window where Max kept his vigilance. "But it gave him the strength to go out and take what he wanted, just as its givin' you the courage to defy me."

"I didn't find courage when you beat me." The Kid's voice softened from anger to admiration, "I found it in watching our Ma try to protect us from you. And I found it again after you left and she struggled to feed and clothe us on what little she could bleed from the farm."

No longer interested in the dusty view outside the window, Smith returned to his card game, "She was a fool to sacrifice herself for a bunch of bratty kids."

"She wasn't foolish, she was a mother," the Kid defended.

Max shifted position suddenly and cocked his rifle, "Someone's comin'."

"I don't hear a horse," said Smith, quickly moving back to his colleague's side.

"He's walkin' in," Max explained. "It looks like his horse is lame."

His voice calm, Jake checked the chambers in his pistol, "Whaddya wanna do Ben?"

"Hell, it's only a nigger," Smith sneered peering cautiously through the window. "How dangerous can he be? We'll just shoot 'im."

This statement brought the Kid's head up. Earlier he'd noticed that Jimmy hadn't worn both six shooters as he tended to do lately. The one he'd taken from his childhood friend, now laid between two of the slats directly above the Kid's head. Shifting position slowly he raised his arms and leaned them against the edge of the top bunk.

Attracted by the movement, Jake spun around and pointed his gun at the Kid, "Whaddya doin' boy?"

"I'm stiff, I needed to stretch," the Kid innocently explained.

"Leave the boy alone Jake," ordered Smith. "You don't hafta worry about him. He never had no heart for fightin' when he was a snotty nosed brat, and according to the pretty lady, he ain't got any now."

The Kid ignored his father's words and concentrated on the hate that he thought he'd purged when his mother died. Only that emotion could give him the courage he needed to save Noah's life. He tensed as the sound of shuffling feet drew nearer.

"Hey, Kid, Rachel, you inside?" Noah's distinctive voice carried clearly through the wooden door.

The young black man's approach drew the attention of Smith and his colleagues. Praying that Jimmy had left the gun loaded, the Kid pulled himself up. While one hand slid through the slats to pull out the gun, the other pushed Rachel to the floor.

With no time to switch the gun from his left hand to his right, he fired at Jake who was closest to him. More shots followed in quick succession, each finding its mark. The three men lay unmoving on the floor before the Kid allowed his violently trembling hand to fall.

As Rachel gently eased the gun out of the Kid's hand, Noah cautiously entered the bunkhouse , his own gun ready. Questions obviously filling his mind, he held his weapon securely as he checked the fallen men. "Smith's still alive."

Rachel gently pulled the Kid to his feet and crossed to the unmoving body. As she kneeled next to the still figure, the Kid reluctantly joined her. With the same hand that only moments before had meted out an inevitable justice, he gently brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across the pale forehead.

The eyelids slid back revealing blue eyes remarkably similar to the ones gazing down upon him with sadness. Blood spilling from the side of his mouth Smith smiled, "You're more like me than I thought, boy." A smile on his blood stained lips, Smith's eyes closed.

Shaking his head in denial, the Kid rose to his feet, "No! No!" On legs that were far from steady, he backed away silently denying the comparison.

Concern for the dying man disappeared as Rachel looked upon the horror stricken young face. "That's not true, Kid. You're nothin' like him."

"I killed just as he would've."

"No!" Rising to her feet, Rachel put a comforting hand on the tense shoulder. "He was willin' to kill for no reason. You killed to save Noah's life."

"If you ask me I think you made the right choice," Noah tentatively offered. Unnerved by the lack of response from his friend, Noah quietly pointed out, "The man deserved to die Kid. The only difference between you shootin' 'im and the posse catchin' 'im is he died by a bullet instead of at the end of a rope."

"It's not the only difference," the Kid whispered.

****

Buck waited patiently as the sound of gunshots echoed around them. As the last one faded, he kicked his horse in the side and shouted, "It's coming from the ranch."

Lou was the first to recover from the momentary shock that had overtaken them. Laying low in the saddle, she whipped her reins across her horse's rear and followed the young Indian down the treacherous slope that was the fastest trail to the ranch. She wouldn't allow herself to imagine what they might discover. She concentrated all her energy and skill on staying in the saddle.

Dim light reflected through the door of the bunkhouse framing Buck in a soft light. The early evening gloom made it difficult to clearly see what had stopped him in his tracks. It wasn't until she had dismounted Lou saw the bodies of three men lying just inside the bunkhouse. Only vaguely conscious of Buck's arm compassionately circling her shoulders, she slowly walked across the dusty yard to the porch.

"Lou, wait," Buck tried to again grip the thin shoulder.

"You wait." Ignoring the dust as the others pulled their horses to a stop behind her, Lou continued her journey.

As the door opened wider Lou's steps never faltered. Her unblinking eyes were focused on the three faceless bodies lying on the floor.

"The Kid's all right Lou," Rachel softly reassured her.

Tears blurred her vision as the young girl raised her eyes to meet Rachel's. "Where is he?"

"He's in the barn." Rachel quickly put out a hand to stop the young girl's headlong rush. "There's somethin' you gotta know before you talk to him Lou."

"It can wait," said Lou impatiently trying to pull free.

Rachel's grip tightened, "No it can't. One of the men lying on this floor is Ben Smith. . ."

"So?" Though still obviously annoyed, Lou stopped struggling, "I figured it might be."

"The Kid had to kill him to save Noah's life," Rachel gently explained.

Inpatient, Lou again tried to pull her arm free, "I already know how protective the Kid can be, and I also know how he hates to kill. Now will you let me go to him?"

Taking a firm grip on each of the young girl's arms, Rachel bent down so her eyes were level with Lou's. "Ben Smith was the Kid's father, Lou."

"No!" Lou gasped, shaking her head in denial.

"The Kid killed him to save my life," added Noah his voice cracking with the strength of his emotions, "and now he thinks that means he's a murderer like his old man."

Teaspoon sadly shook his head. "I best see if I can talk some sense into that self-righteous brain of his."

"Let me try," Lou hastily asserted, putting a hand on the older man's dusty sleeve.

His own eyes quietly searched the earnest face of the young girl before Teaspoon finally agreed, "Good luck.'

A momentary smile of triumph creased her dirty face as Lou raced toward the barn. It quickly faded as she tried to decide what she should say. She and the Kid had been close ever since they'd first met. Perhaps too close. They had allowed their emotions free rein without retaining even a semblance of control. It had almost destroyed their friendship - and their love.

Almost regretting her request, Lou reluctantly entered the barn. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light and focused on the unnaturally still figure leaning against Katy's stall. "Kid?"

When no reply was forthcoming, Lou moved closer and put a comforting hand on a tense shoulder. "It's all right, Kid."

"What's all right?" The voice was low and toneless. "It's all right to kill your own father?"

"When he gives you no other choice, yes it is," Lou softly stated.

"I'm getting good at killing fathers," said the Kid, his hand gently scratching Katy's ears. "First I killed yours, now I've killed mine. It's a good thing Ike's and Noah's and Jimmy's are already dead."

"Stop that," Lou ordered. "Both times you killed, you did so to save someone else. You know my father would've killed us to keep my brother. And, you know your father would've killed Noah, Rachel and you in order to get away."

Laying his head on Katy's neck, the Kid whispered, "Maybe it would've been better if he had killed me."

Lou angrily pulled the Kid around to face her. "Don't you say that! Don't you dare even think it again. I didn't know your father, but I know you're twice the man my father was."

"He said I was like him," the Kid quietly stated.

Scared by the Kid's apparent shock, Lou gently questioned, "Who?"

"My father." The Kid's had stopped its rubbing motion and grabbed a fistful of mane, the knuckles white with the strength of his hold. "He could kill without shame."

"That's not you," Lou assured her friend.

"Isn't it?" For the first time the Kid allowed his eyes to meet Lou's, "Do you know how many times while I was growing up I wanted to kill him? I'm not sorry he's dead."

Puzzled, Lou shook her head, "Then what's botherin' ya?'

"I'm scared," admitted the Kid. "I'm scared that he was right and that I am like him."

"You're not," Lou firmly stated.

Hope glowed from earnest blue eyes, "How can you be so sure when I can't?"

"In some ways I know you better than you know your self," smiled Lou her hand brushing a lock of hair off the Kid's forehead. "Do you remember why we broke up?"

The Kid nodded sheepishly, "I was being over protective."

"Does that sound even remotely like your father?" Lou pointed out. "It seems to me he was too self absorbed to care what happened to someone else."

"He must've cared about my mother at one time," contradicted the Kid. "Or why would he marry her?"

Exasperated Lou pointed out, "Because it was expected of him. He did what his parents wanted him to do ‘til one day he no longer had the courage to live the life that was thrust on him and he ran away."

"So he came out here and became Ben Smith."

"With a life he could live," agreed Lou.

Turning away, the Kid nervously observed, "Do you think that's what I'm doin' when I let you call me the Kid instead of goin' by my given name?"

"I might've, if Jed hadn't called you Kid, too." Noting the relieved expression on the handsome young face Lou slyly continued, "Personally I think you haven't told us your name because it's somethin' like Horatio or Mordecai or . . ."

The Kid threateningly followed Lou from the barn, "Lou!"

"Or Herbert . . ."

"Lou!"

"Or Seymour . . ."


End file.
